


let's make the weathermen look like liars

by grandstander



Category: RWBY
Genre: M/M, here it is ive done it i think this is the first nep/sun thing, sea/storm analogies for nep tho jsyk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 09:11:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2019405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandstander/pseuds/grandstander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>take the fire from my belly and the beat from my heart</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's make the weathermen look like liars

There’s a lot of things you can say about Sun Wukong, but the things you’d most likely say are known facts, and they blare and burn up the air around him just like the fire that’s bare on his name. There are more things you could probably say about Neptune. 

And probably even more that Sun could tell you.

Sun could tell you that at least half the time, Neptune takes his coffee black— but those mornings or evenings when he’s settled into himself like the sea settles onto the shore at peace, and he takes it with heavy cream and six sugars. Those mornings are sweet in his mind, and they’re sweet on his lips, though he’d never tell a soul. He could also tell you the brand of hair gel he uses, and the fact that a bottle lasts him at least three or months because he uses so little then combs his undercut over. He could tell you that even though Neptune rubs a splash of cologne on his neck, that there’s still a faint remnant of his hair gel in the air around him until about mid-afternoon. Sun could also tell you hat he loves him, loves him in the most complimentary and explosive of manners, but he wouldn’t, and he doesn’t even tell Neptune. 

Likewise, Neptune could tell you half the things you likely guessed about Sun within the first five minutes of looking at him. There’s things he’d tell you that you didn’t know of course, but would he? No, never. Neptune knows that Sun hates coffee all together, and would rather have teas— though never black teas— and he takes them with a sweet undertone (though it’s rare in and of itself when he has tea). He could tell you that Sun hates books, and when you read to him, he’ll fall asleep in record time. He could tell you that Sun prefers those golden sunrise mornings that make his skin looks a little warmer, make his hair almost glow, and he looks like he belongs in those moments— he looks like he was forged from sunshine itself, with all it’s burning beauty and all it’s fire; he’d also tell you something you already know, but with a different sort of hue in his eyes, that nothing on this world could contain him, or tame him. 

They’re not romantics, no, they’d never say that. 

They don’t really talk about it, either, it’s simply something that is. They just are— There’s no other way to say it. You don’t question the sun when it rises from the mountains, or when it breaks the clouds in the storm. You don’t dare wage your own war against the forces of nature that forged a son of fire and wildness, with a companioned soul named for the Storm god. You don’t stop to wonder why from the lightning is born fire, or why the heavens smile so kindle down to the sea, meeting as if that’s how it’s always been. 

That fluidity, that set flow of nature shows in their laughter, their smiles, their fighting styles— they’re a force to be reckoned with, a force of nature, as their names tell you. 

They’re not romantics, but maybe their soul mates in a certain kind of way, the kinds bound by their nature and down to the cords in their bodies, bones made from the same dust. Maybe they’re not, though, so they forged a world between them that made them so. If the world told them no, if their lives said no, they said yes. They made it their own— when the weatherman says ‘It’ll rain’, and Sun looks at him and says, ‘No’ and Neptune just laughs because it doesn’t feel like there’s ever any rain. People write stories about how you need it, but he’s the ocean for them and Sun is always burning above him, and the sea is always raising slowly to meet it, just as he is, and he tells himself he doesn’t need the rain because he kisses the sun every morning. 

Nothing could control them, not even each other, so that’s why they rage and burn and storm in each other’s heart until their dying days. That’s why they’ll take the world they’ve made for themselves, and keep it, keep it as wild and free as they are. That’s why they’ll chase the sunset and jump into the ocean at their hearts content. That’s why the rare occassion when their hands meet in the quiet of no others, it feels like lightning coursing their their veins and like they’re being swallowed by a comet. 

They feel alive, they feel alive this way. 

And there’s many things they know about each other, many they wouldn’t tell, but ‘He makes me feel alive' is something they would.


End file.
